The Promise Will Be Fulfilled
by JosephineSilver
Summary: The Score has ruled Auldrant for two thousand years - it dictates where people work, whom they will marry, and even the weather. Lorelei isn't the only sentience trapped and bound by the evidence of his pact with Yulia Jue - and the others are going to do their best to fix it. [AU, multi-chap, slow updates]
1. Prologue

_N.D. 2000. In Kimlasca shall be born one who inherits the power of Lorelei. He will be a boy of royal blood with hair of red. He shall be called the Light of the Sacred Flame. And he will lead Kimlasca-Lanvaldear to new prosperity._

 _N.D. 2002. The One Who Would Seize Glory shall destroy the land upon which he was born. A land by the name of Hod. War shall thereafter persist between Kimlasca and Malkuth for a full cycle of seasons._

Yulia Jue, Sylph thought, really had no idea what she was doing when she brought forth her Score into this world - surprising for a prophetess with the power to acurately see two thousand years into the future. Though, she supposed, Yulia had done the best she could with what she had on hand - war had all but made up the world back then, and surrounded on all sides by armies, disease and the everlooming threat of the Qliphoth, what else was a desperate young girl to do?

Lorelei had been a fool, she thought. The youngest of them, the 'aggregate sentiences' as they were called by the people of _this_ world, but also the strongest - Sylph and her other siblings, the first six, as they were, existed also on other planes, other worlds, other realms of existence, wherever humans and their elements gathered. This world truly _was_ Lorelei's, in that he never had and never would exist in another, and because of this, his power over the planet's memory, her precious younger sibling had grown far closer in spirit than he should have to the human charges of this world.

He'd loved Yulia, Sylph knew. Loved her enough to die for her, at her command, gifting her with her score and locking himself away to uphold the pact he had formed with her.

A stupid, heartsick, loving fool. A _child_.

Yulia had never been malicious. She had been a desperate, clever girl with a link to Lorelei so strong that she could read her way through the planet's memory and find a way to stall the oncoming, sure death of the miasma.

But stalling was really all it was.

Lorelei, her poor, foolish brother had damned his world in his attempt to help Yulia save it, two thousand years ago. The Score had even predicted the coming end - though Yulia, smart as she was, had probably planned on someone (one of her descendants, maybe) on summoning another miracle much like she had, and once more forestall the ruin of Auldrant.

Such a shame, it was, that in a way Yulia had been _right_. It grated, to concede anything to that woman, that woman who was _impossible to hate_ even after all Sylph and her siblings had suffered because of her - because it _was_ a descendant of Yulia that sought to overturn the Score in a world gone mad on the drug Yulia had offered.

Unfortunately, Vandesdelca, The One Who Would Sieze Glory, was going about it _all wrong_.

A replica world? A world made entirely of seventh fonons? Of _Lorelei?_

Sylph shuddered at the thought. She loved her brother, dearly, but that was a thought that was terrifying in a way few things were.

The other sentiences, her siblings, did not hold enough strength to manifest as she could. Gnome, maybe, could manage it, but not as well as she could and for nowhere near as long.

Sylph had decided. If this world were to end without interference, if Yulia's heir thought destroying the world and creating a new one out of the ashes of the old was the answer, than she would simply have to...

... _step in_.

It was as simple as breathing, as hearing, a mere whisper on the breeze, _her_ breeze, to know where the Light of The Sacred Flame was being kept by Vandesdelca; as simple as exhaling to _be_ there.

Sylph glanced around, searching with her eyes and stretching with her other senses to see that besides Vandesdelca and the Light of The Sacred Flame, there were no other fonon frequencies in the empty, lifeless castle in front of her. Apparently, Yulia's heir valued stealth above security.

Sylph could understand that. It was a mistake, sure, but she could see where he was coming from, and maybe if the one looking for the little Flame, for Lorelei's fragment, had been anyone but her, Vandesdelca would have managed just fine.

But she wasn't just _anyone_ , wasn't even human. She was Sylph, mistress of the air, _yes,_ but also the lady of _lightning_. And just like lightning, Sylph struck fast and hard and _true_.

She was by the little Flame's side within the span of a human's heartbeat, and once she was there she froze.

Now that she was within the confines of the castle, Sylph could sense _three_ fonon signatures. The third, originally not felt, was identical to that of the little Flame's - except made purely out of seventh fonons.

... _Lorelei?_ Sylph found herself thinking for a second, painful hope welling up within her at the thought of her littlest sibling out of the core and no longer suffering - before she caught herself and realised, Vandesdelca had gone ahead with the first step of his crazy plan and _replicated_ Lorelei's scion.

She was caught between righteous indignation and blind fury, and then she was gone from the side of Luke fon Fabre to the side of his newly born replica, identical to him in almost everyway - but whereas the little Flame had been unconscious and still, the replica was awake and moving and so, unbelievably...

... _cute_.

The hard, heated anger that had formed within Sylph melted away and she had to hold in a d'aww sound as the little replica, not even a full days old as she could sense, smiled at her vaguely, as if he could actually see her.

Well. Maybe he could. As far as she could tell, he held the same fonon frequency as both the little Flame and her brother, and he was composed entirely of particles of the planet's memory. Him being able to see her wasn't all that far-fetched.

Anger fully forgotten, overtaken by a sense of wonder now instead, Sylph let out a little giggle that she was _sure_ the replica heard - his eyes skittered around wildly as if trying to pinpoint the source of the sound that had come from everywhere and nowhere at once - and waved, a brush of wind against the little one's cheek.

He laughed, too.

"Something funny?"

Sylph flinched, panic overtaking her for a split second as she realised - _she hadn't sensed his approach at all_. With the small amount of wind she had summoned to her side, not wanting to pull on too many fonons and give herself away, wrapped solely around the innocent little one, her senses hadn't stretched out to the doorway behind her and beyond.

Stupid of her, really. Too many centuries spent without pulling herself together as one sentient existence on Auldrant, and now she was giddy like a teenager, getting distracted and making rookie mistakes. She was the third fonon of seven, one of the eldest, the only ones coming before her being the shadow of the void that had existed in solitary darkness for eons unknown before the second, earth, had formed and all else - all other forms of life - had formed around it. She was the aggregate sentience closest to humans, spending all her time in their presence, breathing them in and being breathed by them in turn, hearing their words always, constantly.

And she had allowed herself to become distracted by a _child_.

She metaphorically shook herself back to attention, and withdrew her wind from where it had entwined itself around the little one, causing him to frown. Thankfully, Vandesdelca did not see the way the bright scarlet strands of hair drifted in wind that logically had no way to be in the room, and indeed did not seem to be paying much attention t the replica he had created at all, not looking at it directly or expecting an answer to his sarcastic question.

Sylph frowned at Vandesdelca's lack of attention to the little one. For a man planning to make a replica world, he didn't seem to appreciate the presence of the little one he himself had created.

Vandesdelca was holding clothes, she saw. The clothes that had belonged to the little Flame.

Alarm mingling with curiosity in the back of her mind, Sylph drifted towards the little one gently, watching as he willingly allowed Vandesdelca to dress him in the clothes of Luke fon Fabre, not protesting in any way whatsoever.

A vague sadness pressed down on her. Replicas - they were so like dolls. Impressionable. Malleable. A blank slate. It caused her to shudder, fonons vibrating wildly, as she pondered all the things Vandesdelca could accomplish with this little one by his side. With Lorelei's frequency, he would have hyperresonance, for sure - a perfectly obedient deadly weapon. When Vandesdelca's plot had come to her, in vague fragments of whispers said into the silence on the breeze, she had thought that would be the plan.

But, apparently not. After he had dressed the little one to his satisfaction, Vandesdelca drew back a hand an let loose one stiff, sharp _slap_ that hit hard enough to throw the little one back against the hard stone wall of the empty room.

Sylph recoiled as the little one cowered, hurting but unsure of what or why. He would cry, she sensed, if he only knew how to work his body - an infant born into an already maturing body it couldn't use properly.

Anxious and incensed, Sylph followed Vandesdelca as he left the room, left the little one, and headed back in the direction of the little flame.

Briefly, she entertained the thought of smashing him against the wall, similar to how he had the little one but with more force. _Terminal_ force. But, no, Vandesdelca knew the hymns, and though they wouldn't affect Sylph or her other siblings as much as they would Lorelei, they too were bound by the vocal evidence of Yulia's pact with Lorelei. She couldn't risk it.

And so, she took no actions, remaining silent and sullen as the little Flame she had left only minutes ago came back into view, dressed, bizarrely enough, in a rag of a travelling cloak and rough clothes fit for a peasant, and clutching a broadsword as tall as he was.

If she'd taken a physical form upon manifesting, Sylph had no doubt that her head would be pounding right now.

"Van," the little Flame - Luke - said, his voice a snarl that shook and did nothing to hide the fear that shone through his eyes as he stood there, pale and trembling. "What was the point of this? What do you want from me?"

Vandesdelca's smile was gentle. "Go home, Luke," he said.

He was still smiling, even as the boy fled out the doors, still holding onto that ridiculous sword like a lifeline.

That smile didn't fade until, with the soft sound of heeled footsteps entered the hall.

"Well?" Cantabile asked her old childhood friend.

"Send a missive to Baticul," Vandesdelca said. "An anonymous tip - let them know that the son of the Fabre House can be found in Choral Castle."

Cantabile gave a short, sharp nod, even though Vandesdelca couldn't see it, standing as he was, and left the room quickly.

It was then, with a horrible sense of dawning realisation, that Sylph figured out Vandesdelca's plan and the sheer, brilliant simplicity of it.

If Luke fon Fabre had been anyone else, had been any older - maybe it wouldn't have worked. But he was a young, wounded and traumatised child who would travel much slower than a royal party from Baticul would. He would arrive home after the little one had taken his place, and the abandonment would force him to turn to the only place left to him - Vandesdelca.

Well, Sylph thought. Much like an unexpected headwind before a voyage, it seemed like she would have to throw a spanner in the works.

(She was good at that.)


	2. First Chapter

"My Lady?"

The voice was timid, the knock hesitant. Lady Suzanne fon Fabre stirred listlessly in her bed, and stared at the closed door with bleary eyes. "Yes, Abigail?"

From behind the door, Abigail inhaled sharply - surprised, most likely, that the Lady of the Household had recognised her by voice alone, or even remembered her name.

"I have your medicines, My Lady," Abigail said. "May I come in?"

Suzanne wearily cast a gaze down at herself before sighing, and pulling herself into a seated position, leaning against the head of her bed. "Enter," she said warmly, and smiled at Abigail as the shy maid did so, ducking her head as she scurried to the bedside and placed on it her burden, the tray weighed down with various tinctures, pills and gels.

Suzanne sighed ruefully at the girl who stood nervously by her bedside, clearly under orders not to move from that position until she had taken what her doctor had prepared for her. "My Lord Husband is stubborn," she said, reaching for something she vaguely recognised as one of her more common and mild medicines. "He sends for all these things, in the hopes that one will cure me," she closed her eyes and swallowed the bitter liquid down. "He doesn't seem to understand that you can't cure some things."

"D-don't give up hope, My Lady!" Abigail burst out. "The Score has predicted only happiness and health for you, for the next year at least!" Abruptly, and with a little squeak, Abigail seemed to realize that she had been shouting at her employer and Lady, and paled, blood draining from her face rapidly.

Suzanne gave her a weak smile. _Happiness? If the Score gave me happiness, it would have left me my_ son.

A fortnight earlier, a tip had come in from the Oracle Knights of Daath, saying that they had heard a rumor claiming that Luke had been spotted near Choral Castle. After a week with no news of their son, hope had threatened to overtake Suzanne, but the squadron of White Knights her husband and brother had sent out - led by her husband - had returned from Kaitzur's Naval Port with no news except that of an empty castle, and no Luke.

 _"I don't understand," Suzanne spoke weakly from her seat by the fire, where she had been placed by her husband when her legs had nearly given out from beneath her. "The castle was empty? The lead was false?"_

 _Her husband hesitated, before finally speaking. "I don't believe so, dear. The castle was empty, yes - but completely so. Wiped clean, not so much as a speck of dust anywhere. There was someone there, only recently, but they were long gone by the time we got there."_

 _Suzanne was silent for a long, drawn out moment of tension between the two of them. Then, "And Luke?"_

 _Her husband paused, before kneeling by her side and bowing his head so that it rested almost in her lap, like a man seeking forgiveness. Her breath caught in her throat as he spoke shakily. "If they were the ones that had him, they must have heard that we knew, and fled. There's no telling where they are now."_

 _Suzanne took in a deep, shuddering breath, and folding herself over her husband's body, broke down into the tears she'd been holding back for far too long._

Out loud, she responded to Abigail with a simple 'thank you.' It was silent between them for a while, a few minutes passing as Suzanne labored through taking her prescriptions and Abigail standing to attention at her Lady's side, and just as Suzanne reached for the last of the bottles on the tray, the sound of frantic, thudding footsteps echoing down the halls reached them.

Exchanging a bewildered look, both women turned towards the door just as it flew open, revealing another maid, younger and newer to her position than Abigail, as she was one that Suzanne had never laid eyes upon in her life, meaning she worked somewhere away from the main and public areas of the manor.

" _Isabelle!_ " Abigail hissed, the tone of her voice a mixture of mortification and completely scandalized.

Ignoring her senior, the maid, Isabelle, ran to Suzanne's side once she had caught her breath, and leant against the bed. "My Lady," she gasped out. "My Lady - Master Luke, he's returned!"

 **-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x  
** _

ND 2018

 _Heed... y voice ... fr... men ...sou ...w...ken._

"Ow!" Hunched over, a teenage boy with hair of red was scowling up at his guardian. "What was that for?"

Holding a broom like it was a weapon, a blonde woman just shy of her middle years frowned down at the boy, her pale eyes worried. "Those headaches again?" She asked worriedly, crouching down beside the boy and pressing a hand to his head.

He pushed her away, stumbling to his feet and squinting at her what _would've_ been an impressive glare if he'd actually managed to fix his line of sight on her. "Yeah," he answered her. "Hey, Val - ever thought that I might get these headaches because of your insistence on giving me concussions?"

Val frowned at him as she, too, stood up. "You're exaggerating, little Luca," she said. "It's just a broom. And I've never given you a concussion."

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, rubbing a hand against the back of his head - his hair was already a mess anyway, ponytail falling loose and twigs and leaves caught up in it. Val caught the movement, and smiled.

"That's what you get for napping in the woods, silly," she said with a giggle, and Luca just couldn't find it in him to stay mad at her.

"I heard that voice again," he said lightly as they began to walk together, back to the little cabin in the woods that had been their home for as far back as Luca could remember.

Val stiffened briefly, before relaxing once again. "Oh?" she said. "And what did your voice have to say, little Luca?"

Luca pouted at her, silently protesting the nickname as he had for years, but answered. "Not much. Just broken, garbled Ancient Ispanian."

Val frowned at him. "How do you know that? You don't speak Ancient Ispanian."

Luca rolled his eyes. "But you do, and I've heard enough to recognize the sound of it. It was definitely Ancient Ispanian."

Val glared down at her feet and grumbled something under her breath.

"What was that?" Luca blinked wide, innocent eyes of emerald green at her.

"Nothing." She forced a smile. "Hey, once we get home and you've neatened yourself up a bit, do you mind running an errand for me?"

Luca tilted his head back. "Eh?" He said. "What kind of errand?"

"Could you head into town for me? We're running low on a few things, and you should be able to get them in Engeve."

Luca, always eager for an excuse to go to the place where he was frequently offered free food by the adults around, nodded, a faint but genuine smile crossing his lips. "Sure," he agreed, skipping ahead eagerly to the cabin.

Once his back was to her, Val's smile fell off of her face.

"Dammit, Lorelei," she whispered, hands clenching into her skirts as fists, knuckles white and almost hard enough to tear through the tough cotton. "Just a little longer."

-x-

Miles, leagues, and a kingdom away, the same voice resonated through the mind of another red-headed teen.

Luke fon Fabre, heir to the Belkend Duchy as well as the Kimlascan throne, gripped a hand into his hair tightly, ripping several strands out by the roots. The pain the voice caused him was incredible - it always was - but since _that_ incident seven years ago, he had become skilled at hiding how much pain he was in a t any given moment and not showing it to the people around him.

Of course, there were several people in his life that knew him too well to allow him to wear such masks in their presence. Natalia was one, top of that list in fact. The other, also a girl, but more of a friend or sister than what Natalia was to him, was the one that stood by him now, hovering in the background and trying to be unobtrusive until he was ready to talk.

"I'm fine," he gasped out, turning to meet the worried blue gaze of the girl that shone from her visible eye. "No worse than usual, Tear."

 _There was shouting, Luke registered. This was nothing new around the manor - his father was far from a quiet man, quick to anger, and Daath's continued denial of the custody of Van Grants was a constant grate on his nerves and limited goodwill, meaning that the household these days resembled a structure of cracked glass more than anything else._

 _But there was something different about this shouting - not merely the anger of his distant father, his_ mother's _voice was raised against the cacophony._

 _Blinking, confused and worried when much of what was left of him after Choral Castle and Van was anger and apathy, Luke had run for the public area of the manor, the main meeting hall that his parents kept open rather than open up the private areas, especially after his kidnapping._

 _There, bowed down in complete supplication, forehead pressed to the ground, was a trembling and pale brunette girl, facing his father as his mother stood over her and glared._

 _"_ No, _" his mother said, and Luke had never heard her so serious. "She's an innocent child, not even Luke's age yet, and you'll kill her for crimes she didn't commit?"_

 _His father's vicious gaze hadn't left the girl, and neither of his parents seemed to register Luke's presence. "She came here to pay for the sins of her blood," he said. "Step aside, Suzanne."_

 _"She's_ nine years old! _" Around the room, maids that had still been in the room when the argument had started and had been unable to make their mistake flinched at their Lady's uncharacteristic outburst. "Nine years old, and if you do this then_ I will never forgive you."

 _Suzanne fon Fabre's voice had dropped into a low, rough hiss towards the end of her sentence, and a formidable strength rarely seen in the frail Lady of the Fabre Household shone through and showed just why she had been kept in the royal line of succession even with her illnesses._

 _As his parents voices raised once again, rehashing and shouting the same argument as they stood at impasse, Luke crept slowly further into the room, staring curiously at the trembling form of the girl on the floor, still bowing._

 _She was barefoot, and barelegged, the tunic-style dress she wore torn at the hem ad falling to barely mid-thigh. The cloth was thin, and stained with a mix of dirt and blood. Her arms and legs, thin and bare, were bruised and scratched with marks as if from both claws and trees, and dirt was smudged all over them too. Her hair was stringy with oil, spread out across her back in separated clumps, and twigs and leaves were entangled in the mess._

 _It was an entirely too familiar look to Luke - how different from this girl had he been, when he'd finally managed to claw his way back home, to Baticul, after those hellish weeks in the wilderness, on the road, at the mercy of nature itself?_

 _And so, he crept forward, and knelt beside her, trying to summon up a smile for someone other than his mother or Natalia for the first time in what felt like forever, as he placed a hand gently on her shoulder._

 _With a sharp intake of breath, the girl started, before staring up at him with wide, frightened blue eyes as her trembling restarted._

 _"Luke!" Snapped his father._

 _Luke ignored him, staring straight at the girl, this kindred spirit. "What's your name?"_

 _She sniffled, pushing herself up so she was in a sort of kneeling position; legs sprawled akimbo beneath her, and wiped her eyes as she answered in a hiccupping voice. "Mystearica Grants," she said, and her eyes were filled with shame. "I'm sorry."_

 _Instinctively, Luke had flinched backwards as she had revealed her name to him, suddenly seeing past tears and hardships to the familial resemblance lying underneath. His voice came quick and harsh, and after sucking a burning breath of air in through his teeth, he hissed out, "Sorry?"_

 _Mystearica Grants flinched, legs scrabbling on the slick marble flooring as she moved frantically away from him. "Grandfather told me what brother did," she whispered, hands raised up to her neck like she expected to be hit. "I came to say sorry."_

 _The adults had fallen silent and watchful, though the Duke still fumed; hand gripping tight to the hilt of his sword, but Luke paid them no mind, and kept Mystearica Grants attention fixed on him._

 _"You didn't do anything," he said._

 _Mystearica shook her head. "My brother hurt you," she said earnestly. "Grandfather says that I have to take responsibility. Until my brother comes forward I'll accept punishment in his place."_

 _Luke stared at her quietly for a moment, contemplating, as his mother huffed beside him._

 _"Honestly," Suzanne fon Fabre muttered under her breath. Then, "Okay!" She smiled brightly at Mystearica. "How about this: you can serve House Fabre until your brother is punished for his crimes?"_

 _Mystearica blinked. Luke blinked. Standing behind his wife, the Duke blinked, and opened his mouth to complain._

 _"I'm not done speaking, dear," the Lady of the House spoke without even glancing over her shoulder at her husband once. "Do let me finish. Guy serves Luke, and Mystearica can learn how to work with him for when she will serve Natalia by his side once she and Luke are married!" She smiled, at the children still on the floor in front of her, at her husband hovering behind her, at the maids still scattered and frozen around the room (trying desperately not to be seen). "Well, Mystearica? What do you think?"_

"You say that every time," Tear frowned, grip tightening on her staff. "Just what _is_ the usual, Luke?"

He blinked up at her, taking in her uniform - that of the Oracle Knights of Daath's Order of Lorelei with an invasive sense of unease. It was Tear, of course, so she was safe, but that uniform didn't inspire any confidence or comfort in the future monarch of Kimlasca, and had only made him worry for her safety since she'd first donned it, under orders from his father to infiltrate Daath. From what he knew, she'd - _somehow_ \- played on the sympathies of the Daathic Order by exaggerating her 'captivity' within the Fabre Household. Her duties as a member of the Oracle Knights restricted the time she could spend here, but she still came when she could, even if only for a few minutes.

Glancing around to make sure they were alone, he sent her a brief glare. "Asch, Tear," he reminded her. "When it's just us -"

"- Asch, I know," Tear sighed over the top of him.

The name thing had been a weird quirk of his once he had returned from his captivity seven years earlier. Though he didn't protest around adults and the general populace, there were three people in the world that knew the truth about who Luke fon Fabre was in his own eyes - Guy, Natalia and Tear, all whom called him by his chosen name, 'Asch,' 'The Charred Remains of The Sacred Flame.' His memories of what, exactly, he'd suffered in his time held captive in Choral Castle was little more than a pain and fear filled blur, but he knew enough of it to know that Luke fon Fabre had died that night. He had changed, deeply and irrevocably, and even if only around a chosen few, he would show that, show who he really was.

His - he hesitated to call them friends, but could think of no other word that fit - friends had grown used to calling him Asch, but also had to keep up the appearance of 'Luke' around others, which sometimes led to them tripping over their own tongues, especially in the case of Natalia, who had never truly understood why he felt the need to change his name or was comfortable calling him by the one he had chosen. Guy, at the completely opposite end of the spectrum, was constantly glad that as a servant, even a high ranking one, he wasn't expected to address Asch too frequently or informally, because he often found himself forgetting to call him Luke altogether, even when in company. Tear hovered somewhere between the two, sometimes seeming to forget his name altogether and growing increasingly flustered as she stumbled.

Asch shook his head, and leant back against the wall that was under his bedroom window, the one that led into the enclosed courtyard of the Fabre manor, his prison, and frowned briefly at Tear. "I didn't know you were coming back today," he said.

Tear blinked at him, her one visible eye showing surprise. "Duke Fabre didn't inform you? He called for me a week ago." She ducked her head down to one side. "It was... hard, to convince the Order to let me go again."

Asch nodded knowingly. As the story was that she had been forced into the Fabre Household as punishment for her brother's crimes against it, and had joined the Order of Lorelei to gain some small form of freedom (as Daath's neutrality as spiritual capital of the world had earned it immunity to the political issues of other kingdoms and countries on its own home ground, and was the home of the Daathic faith, no ruler or noble could bar another person from joining up with the Order and doing their duty to it without becoming extremely unpopular in the eyes of the common people), she still had to return to Baticul periodically in a gesture of good faith towards the Fabre Household to 'serve her time.' Essentially, Tear was a political hostage to both sides, but while Daath thought her ignorant and on their side, seeking asylum from her captors, she was truly working for Baticul, seeking a way to bring her brother to justice and bring honour back to her family.

"I'm sure they just think you're being recalled so often because my father's planning something," he said. "They'll want you to feed them information, so when you next meet up with my father discuss it with him and see if you can come up with something plausible." He frowned. "And why, exactly, has my father called for you?" Father didn't like Tear, after all, and for all her use within the household, preferred it when she was sequestered away in Daath.

Tear shifted, and bit her lip uncertainly, looking unsure as to whether or not she should tell him, but after a minute or so of internal struggle, decided to come clean. "The God Generals are being very active, lately," she said. "Since they answer directly to the Commandant, it's more likely than not on his orders, which cannot mean anything good." She bit her lip and cast her gaze downwards, fringe falling to cover her eyes. "Vandesdelca..." She murmured - her voice a mix of anger and pain.

Asch considered her words "Well, let's get you to father," he said as his mind whirred with a dozen theories as to what Van could be up to - each just as likely (or unlikely) as the last, considering they had no idea of his end goals, what he hoped to achieve or what means he would go to in order to succeed in his plans. "You haven't met with him yet, have you?"

Tear shook her head no, and fell into step behind him, an appropriate distance away for one who held her position in the household. "Your uncle the King is holding court, currently," Tear reported. "Your Lord Father requested that I be sent ahead to await him here - he doesn't want the rest of the nobles in the House of Peers to think too deeply of my continued presence, as he is certain that at least one noble House is working with my brother, as your kidnapping seven years ago was almost certainly an inside job."

"Van _was_ instructing me on the sword," Asch pointed out, not truly arguing or debating, merely trying to fill the silence as they walked towards the general meeting room by the entrance to the manor. "He spent several hours with me every day, more so than both of my parents combined, and he was trusted to have a blade around me, to _point_ that blade _at me_. You can't get much more of an 'inside job' than that."

Tear opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off by another person speaking, a male, tone cheerful and bright. "Well, Van was just one man," Guy Cecil, blonde haired, blue eyed and positively _sparkling_ stepped out from behind one of the pillars that held up the verandah that ran the inner perimeter of the manor's circular courtyard. "And he had an alibi at the time, so there was definitely more than one person involved."

Tear started at the appearance of Asch's longtime servant, and blushed as she realized she'd somehow failed to register his presence. "Hello, Guy," she smiled in greeting, but made no move to hug him like she wanted to after not seeing him for so long, for which Guy looked at her gratefully. "Still not over that phobia, huh? You never change," she sighed.

Guy chuckled nervously, a rueful look on his face as he rubbed one gloved hand on the side of his head and shrugged. "Sorry," he said.

"An alibi?" Asch muttered, staring down at his hands before looking up at Guy and fixing him with a piercing stare. "Who was it?"

"Huh?" Guy blinked, transferring attention from Tear to Asch. "Who was what?"

"Van's alibi," Asch explained. "It's concrete? Who was it?"

"Er - it's concrete," Guy assured him. "It was me, we were talking for a while before the call went out that you couldn't be found."

Asch narrowed his eyes. "What were you talking about?"

"Swords," Guy said easily, stepping forwards down the steps so that he joined them on their level, deftly avoiding Tear by standing at Asch's other side. Tear, for her part, was intrigued. Surely Asch didn't suspect Guy for having a hand in Vandesdelca's dealings? "His style was so different to mine, and I was a kid. I was curious."

Asch stared hard at Guy for a long, tense moment drawn out in time that had Tear holding her breath, ready to break out the First Fonic Hymn if these two idiots broke out their swords. Eventually, though, Asch merely grunted in acquiescence and turned away from his servant, and that was that.

And then, just as Asch put one foot forward, onto the first step that would lead up into the raised entrance of the hall, he jumped back lightning fast, crouching low in a way that lessened the amount of his total body mass available as a target and pulled his sword from its sheath, it's sharp edge gleaming in the late afternoon light. Guy's blade was also bare, his eyes narrowed and sharpened as his face hardened into an expression that just felt intrinsically _wrong_ on the generally happy man.

Blinking, Tear whirled, and saw, still quivering, a blade standing point down amidst the shattered pieces of the tile that covered the stairs - right where Asch had been standing not even ten seconds earlier.

Panic briefly threatened to overwhelm her - though she had been trained well by both the White Knights of Baticul and the Oracle Knights of Lorelei's Order, was in fact a soldier amongst the ranks of the Order herself, her only battles had been against monsters, never fellow human beings, and never in a situation in which her life was _genuinely_ in danger - unlike Asch, who had fought his way back to Baticul from Kaitzur Naval Port single handedly, or Guy, who since the kidnapping incident had been trained and run through drills almost ruthlessly by the elite of the Royal House in order to protect his Lord and future King.

Both had killed, she knew. Both were fully prepared to kill again, and though she told herself she was ready to do the same the cold hard truth of it was that she wouldn't know until she actually faced that decision in battle - and by then, if she hesitated, it could be too late. If it was just her, on her own, she wouldn't mind so much if she were to pay the consequences of her own actions - but she wasn't on her own. She was with her friends, one who had saved her life and the other who had taught her what she needed to know in order to keep it.

And those friends, braced and alert and ready for another attack, had drawn closer, backs angled towards one another so that a single leap back could cover the other's but not touching, clearly _guarding_ her.

Tear would have protested, actually kind of wanted to as it was technically _Asch_ that was important and should be protected, even if he _could_ look after himself, but her training in Daath had taught her many things, including battle tactics - and in a battle, you _always_ guarded the fonist. Those with offensive Fonic Artes could deal incredible damage to multiple targets in one hit, and due to the relative rarity of genuine Seventh Fonists, healers were _always_ targeted first by the enemy party - it was just good sense.

Tear, though she could and _would_ fight close range, was much more effective as a healer in this particular instance, when both Guy and Asch were available and ready with blade and Artes. And so, she tightened her grip on her staff, swept it out so the tip scratched the ground, and straightened her back, breathed in deep. Through her staff, she could feel the second fonon, and it whispered sibilantly, offering her strength and protection - but it wasn't those she wanted now. Through the earth, deeper, deeper, lay the fonons she was searching for - the seventh, and the first.

Dragging the seventh fonon out from where it resided in the earth, in all things living as the planet's memory, she closed her eyes as the fonons began to vibrate and buzz around her, the fonon of sound imbuing itself into the staff she held. Keeping them there, _holding_ steady, she took another breath, and sang.

" _Tue rei ze croa riou tue ze_ ," Yulia's First Fonic Hymn, 'Nightmare.' The only one Tear currently knew, the only one she could use properly, representing the first fonon, Shadow, the hymn was a particularly strong form of selective hypnosis, putting enemies to sleep the same as some Artes could. The hymn was more useful, in Tear's opinion - unlike an Arte, which once dedicated to could not be pulled back or stopped, Nightmare stopped as soon as she was done singing, even if the effects remained. Keeping her eyes closed, feeling the first fonon whirl around her alongside the seventh as the hymn words drew in their power.

 _Where were they?_ Tear thought, reaching out with the seventh fonons she had gathered, searching for the attackers.

Searching... searching...

... _There_.

"Two of them!" She called out, eyes snapping open. "From above!"

Like her cry was a symbol, the two enemy attackers revealed themselves, standing on the roof of the manor across from where they stood, no longer hiding now that they had been revealed. Asch and Guy tensed further, Asch raising his sword and baring the point towards the enemies above as Guy crouched lower, angling his blade so it was lying horizontal at his side, the sharp edge gleaming in light and ready to cut.

"Sing, Tear!" Asch commanded. "Bring them down!"

But Tear was frozen, gaping at their attackers. "No!" She yelled out. "Those are God Generals!"

Her words startled both of them, clearly, but as Guy straightened from his battle ready position and let out a yelping ' _what?!'_ Asch merely gritted his teeth.

"That's fine," he snarled, shoving the fringe of his deep red hair back from his face, emerald eyes darkening with hate. "It's perfect, in fact."

With his hair pushed back from covering his face and eyes like that, Asch looked older than his seventeen years. Harder. There was a readiness and complete willingness to fight in his eyes that frightened Tear, because she _knew_ \- looking at the masked and smirking but completely casual form of Sync the Tempest and the elegant and amused Legretta the Quick, her once teacher from childhood - _knew_ , that he wasn't ready. Not for this, not for them, not yet.

Thankfully, Guy understood, even if Asch was apparently lost to all reason and common sense.

"Asch," he spoke lowly, eyes once more narrowed and chilled as ice, fixated on the smirking God Generals. "You need to go with Tear. Do the thing."

Tear blinked - "Really, Guy?" She questioned uncertainly, skittering to their side. "But if we use that now-"

"We don't have time to argue about this," Guy spoke calmly and concisely, moving slowly so he stood before both Asch and Tear, sword held ready. "The whole reason you were trained in this, that it was deemed a plausible backup, was for Asch's protection. These are God Generals, right? So they're Van's direct subordinates. We _cannot_ let him finish whatever it was he started seven years ago. Now, _do your job,_ Tear."

Before Tear could respond, the surprisingly youthful voice of Sync the tempest spoke out, a certain malicious eagerness to the tone. "Locrian Sergeant Mystearica Grants," he called out, a grin visible on his face from what little the mask showed. "We come bearing order from the head of your division."

"Grand Maestro Mohs?" Tear faltered, staff swinging somewhat more loosely in her grip, before she shook herself and drew it up to cover her chest once more. "Liars," she called out angrily. "You work for my brother!"

"And where is Van?" Asch's voice was cold.

Ignoring him, Sync's grin widened. "We answer to others when it suits us," he said. "Now, we've come all this way to give you a message. Are you going to be a good little girl and listen, or not?"

"If you're just hear to deliver Tear her orders as you say," Guy called out, "then why attack us? Or are you saying that knife just then _wasn't_ yours?"

"Mystearica," Legretta spoke up for the first time, raising her twin pistols so the barrels were fixated directly at Guy. "Your orders are as follows: detain the seventh fonist known as Luke fon Fabre, and bring him into Daath for questioning. We're here as your backup."

Asch _bristled_. "Under what charges?" He hissed.

Sync's vicious smile became a smirk. "You don't need to know!" He yelled out, and then, suddenly, in the time it took to blink, was standing directly in front of Guy, ducking down and kicking up at him with tremendous force.

"Guy!" Tear called out, panicked, as he was sent flying, hitting against the wall of the manor with a sickening crunch before falling down and lying still, not moving.

" _Sync,_ " Legretta frowned down at her comrade. "We were meant to avoid collateral damage. The Commandant will be displeased."

Sync shrugged carelessly, paying absolutely no attention to the two that stood not even a meter from him. "He'll deal," he held up his hands in a ' _what can you do?'_ gesture.

Near him, both Tear and Asch were trembling. Tear from fear and worry - Asch from pure, destructive _rage_.

Asch had an almost unnatural skill in keeping his cool. His icy mentality wasn't cold or uncaring, simply logical. But he had a short fuse, and in some situations, that fuse blazed into a spectacular explosion of instinctual rage and frustration - his greatest, most final and fatal flaw.

Natalia had always sighed and jokingly said that Asch's temper would be the death of him. Tear, as a friend to both of them, was determined that today would not be that day. So, even though her entire being was screaming at her to turn around and _heal Guy_ , she swallowed back a sob and threw herself against Asch's back, looping her arms around his middle just as he lunged forward with a growl.

"I'm sorry, Guy," she whispered, and ducked her head, pressing it to the dip between Asch's shoulder blades.

A bright, gold-red-white glow _erupted_ around Tear and Asch, flowing out in rippling waves of fonon particles.

"What?" Sync's voice was startled, and Tear vaguely registered a green blur throwing itself back, away from them.

"A Hyperresonance!" Legretta snarled from the roof. "They're both seventh fonists - get _away_ from them, Sync! You don't want to get caught up in it!"

And then, the light intensified, and they were gone.

-x-

Luca blinked down at the box full of the supplies that Aaron held, and then down at the list of things that Val had asked for. "This isn't all of it," he said, rubbing one hand to the back of his head. "I gave you the right amount of gald, didn't I?"

With a shrug and a rueful smile, Aaron handed him the box, and a handful of gald coins, that he quickly pocketed.

"Haven't you heard?" The small goods shopkeeper asked. Aaron was the person locals went to for supplies and basic necessities, over the neater and more expensive shop set up for tourists and travellers. "There's been a string of robberies, lately. Food storage is damn near empty."

Luca frowned. "Just the food?" he said. "That's weird."

"Ah, well," Aaron sighed. "Engeve doesn't have much else of profit, and we're the supplier for a lot of the food of the continents, as well as the reagents used in gels and some bottles."

Still frowning, brows creased, Luca distractedly thanked Aaron and turned to leave. Val's list had already been surprisingly small to merit a tip in to town - especially given how late it had been, already the sky outside of Aaron's house (also his place of business) was growing dark. He tried to think back, to pull up an image of the interior of the cottage they lived in just inside the Cheagle Woods north of Engeve, and take stock in his head of what, exactly they had on their shelves and in their cupboards. But, Luca had never really been in charge of the kitchen, and so had never really payed attention to what they did and didn't have.

Huffing under his breath and hissing out an expletive between his teeth, Luca glanced once more down at the list Val had given him, scrawled messily as if she had been in a hurry.

Flour - he'd managed to get that, a full (if small) bag of it, and pretty much all of the herbs and spices she had requested were bundled up in the box, too. A handful of apples, and that was all he'd managed to get - the food shortage must be serious, if he hadn't managed to get his hands on _any_ perishables at all, merely Engeve's signature fruit and dry cooking components that would keep for months and were useless on their own.

His mind raced - there _had_ to be a way to get at least the eggs Val wanted, if not the milk. "Hey, Aaron," he called out, now aware that he had been standing in his doorway for quite some time. "Is it okay if I leave this stuff here for now? I don't want to be carrying it around for too long if I don't have to."

Aaron, who had sat down and begun to roll up some tobacco into a pipe once business had been completed squinted up at him. "Eh?" he grunted. "Oh, sure, just close the door behind you on the way out, and be back to pick up your stuff before midnight or you won't be able to get until tomorrow."

Luca grinned at him, loose strands of red hair falling into shining eyes. "Thanks, Aaron!" He bolted out the door and down the street, turning for Rose's house.

Engeve was, after all, an incredibly small town, even with its food production. Its gald revenue wasn't particularly large beyond the money brought in from outside shipments, and permanent residents normally bartered with exchanges of favours rather than coins. Rose, as mayor, would more than likely know what needed to be done around town and who would be willing to part with some meat, or eggs, in exchange for Luca's help around their house or farm. It was too late to start work now, of course - the sun had well and truly set now, the once orange hues of sunset darkening into navy blooming onto black, the stars beginning to show in small pinpricks, the light from the fonbelt growing stronger in the oncoming dark.

Slowing down from his brisk jog, Luca tried to tame the tangle that was his fringe into something resembling order, pushing it down as the voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like a nagging Val told him to keep himself presentable in front of important company, and knocked at Rose's door - a lantern had been lit above the doorway to show that she was still awake for any townspeople to come and see her.

"Ah, Luca!" Rose smiled at him as she opened the door, warm and motherly. "It' a bit late to see you, isn't it? How can I help you?"

Voices wafted from beyond Rose's door, which she was holding closed. Luca blinked, and curiosity welled up in him. "Is someone in there with you, Rose?" He asked before he could stop himself.

She smiled at him. "Just some visitors from the capital," she said. "Here about the food shortage - they rely on us for supplies too, you know. Now, how can I help, if you're coming here so late? I can't imagine that Valkyrie being overly glad with you wandering home in the dark."

Luca chuckled nervously. "Val will probably come looking for me if I don't get myself home soon," he admitted. "I just wanted to know if there was any way I could do some jobs around town tomorrow in exchange for some meat, or at least some eggs?"

Rose looked troubled. "I'll ask around," she answered finally. "If you come by around lunch tomorrow, there'll probably be something for you to do. However... not many people will be willing to part with what they have - like I said, this is affecting us all."

Luca nodded. "I guess," he said. "And it's not like we can't hunt for meat - maybe we could organise a hunting party? Most of the small game in the woods tastes fine and is low-levelled, so it shouldn't be too much of an issue if the people here joined up." He tilted his head back and made a humming sound as he thought of the logistics of such a thing.

Rose was nodding along thoughtfully. "Yes, that could work, and it might lighten the load we've put on our poor tightened belts. If you come by tomorrow, we can discuss this then, too."

Luca grinned. "Thanks, Rose!" He called out, as he turned around and ran back down the street to Aaron's, ready to collect his few purchases and go home.

-x-

The man known as Colonel Jade Curtiss narrowed his eyes as his gaze tracked the boy that had come knocking upon the mayor's door as he ran back down the street. For a minute, through the small gap of the door, the boy had almost looked familiar, and though logic insisted otherwise, Jade rarely listened to any logic but his own, and in his own personal experience, nothing was impossible - far from it, in fact.

The view from the window, which he had shifted to when it was clear that standing behind the mayor of Engeve was not a feasible vantage point, was not much better. While the boy had stood in the doorway, discussing the food shortage with the mayor, little had been visible of him but his silhouette, far too distorted by the flickering light of the lantern to draw a proper conclusion from, and now that he was running down the street, all that was visible was his back, coated by a worn grey cotton shirt that may have at one point been white, and his hair - a deep red, and long, pulled back into a messy tail that ran down his back.

"Tch," Jade tsked, displeased that he had not managed to gain a full glimpse of that face that had looked so bizarrely familiar for the five seconds in which he had seen it over Rose's shoulder.

"Colonel?" Anise's voice rung up at him. "What is it?"

"Hmm?" Blinking innocently and affixing a smile to his face, Jade made a small chortling noise and turned to face the young Fon Master Guardian, eyes crinkling shut. "What is what, Anise?"

Anise grumbled at his avoidance of the subject, but, well used to his little games by now (even if not _happy_ with them, per se), didn't pursue the subject or attempt to force it out of him with either bribery or trickery.

Rose, however, had heard the question, just re-entering the room, and possibly misinterpreting it, answered Anise. "Oh, that was Lucas Sylvain," she smiled. "A nice boy, he and his guardian have been living just outside of town for... oh, almost a decade now. He'll be here again tomorrow if you want to meet him."

"Is he rich?" Anise asked, eyes sparkling.

Rose blinked, most likely surprised by the young girl's avid interest in this Lucas Sylvain's financial status. "Well, no," she said, her voice both startled and confused. "I don't believe so."

And, just like that, Anise's interest in the boy died. Jade didn't bother to hide a smile.

Ion, however, appeared to be thinking hard. "He seems nice," the young and innocent Fon Master said. "Maybe we should talk to him tomorrow about this hunting party. If it would help with the food shortage, I think it would be best." Determination shone in the green of Ion's eyes, and Jade supressed a deep, weary sigh. The young Fon Master was right, of course - these people were citizens of Malkuth, and Peony would be insufferable if something were to happen to them while Jade could prevent it, and Engeve _was_ a major contributor to the food supply of the world, to say nothing of the gels that were created from the reagents grown here.

"Perhaps," Jade allowed. "However, since the food shortage itself isn't because of a failing of crops or livestock, but rather that your storage is being robbed, I was planning to go out on the Tartarus tomorrow to scope out the area - there are rumours that the group of bandits known as the Dark Wings has been active around here. I see no reason as to why they would be robbing _food stores_ , but all possibilities must be explored."

Ion nodded in agreement, but still looked slightly disappointed. Well, after Daath, Jade supposed even a hunting trip in the woods would seem exciting or adventurous.

Rose, perhaps seeing this disappointment, smiled gently at Ion. "Well, if you decide to go and see him at some point, he lives with his guardian just inside the border of the Cheagle Woods," she chuckled. "It's a fair walk, and there are monsters, but with a man such as the Colonel with you alongside your Guardian, you should be fine."

Ion smiled (and practically sparkled) at the old woman. "Thank you, ma'am," he said. "I hope we can figure out the cause of this problem and cut it off at the root."

-x-

Just as he stepped through the tree line of the woods, panting and sweating from running from so many monsters (he hated encountering them at night, and he was carrying a box full of supplies, besides) a bright light seared across Luca's vision.

The light was golden-red-white, and it left behind a trail in the sky like a comet as it flashed by. Blinking, Luca was pulled up short as he watched the light vanish over the horizon as quickly as it had come.

 _What was that?_ He wondered, staring off into the distance where the light had gone even as he slowly began to walk deeper into the woods. _Was I just imagining it?_

"Of course you weren't."

Luca nearly jumped out of his skin. Whirling around, he saw that perched against the wide and moss covered trunk of a particularly deformed tree, was the form of a woman who seemed to be made of ink and snow, waves of midnight hair curling and spilling over shoulders that appeared to be carved form pale ivory moonlight. Deep blue eyes glinted at him, and pale lips pulled back to show pearly teeth arranged into what _may_ have been a smile. The dark colours the woman wore didn't help to make her visible in the low light offered by the moon and the fonbelt through the thick foliage of the trees, and Luca wheezed as he choked on the breath that had caught in his throat, his heart speeding up to the point that it nearly stopped entirely in his chest.

"Sirena," he hissed out, clutching at his chest as he doubled over, keeping a one armed grip on the box he held, though the supplies in it had undoubtedly been knocked around. " _Why did you do that_."

Sirena laughed, and jumped off the tree. "You weren't imagining things, little one," she said, and Luca tensed as she walked closer to him. "That light was definitely real."

 _"Stay away from Sirena, little Luca," Val's voice was stern but her eyes were afraid as she talked to the boy who looked to be about fourteen years old._

 _"Why?" Luca questioned, unable to understand why Val didn't want him near the woman she called 'sister.'_

 _"Because the first time she saw you, she tried to drown you," Val said. "She wants to make you dead, little Luca. Don't give her the opportunity."_

The problem was, over the years, Sirena appeared to him without any warning, rhyme or reason, and always when Val was out of reach. Luca didn't want to admit it, not even to himself, but just being around Sirena made his stomach churn and his blood turn to ice.

The layers of Sirena's dress shifted almost musically as she sauntered slowly across the soft, mossy ground of the woods towards where Luca stood, desperately looking for an escape route. Her dress was blue-purple under the navy-lit sky, with a white lace belt tightly wrapped around her midriff. The skirt swept right down to the ground, the train of it tugging on twigs as she moved.

Silk, Luca realised incredulously. Sirena was walking in the woods, in the dark, in a purple and white lace-silk ball gown. Sure. Okay.

"Do you know what that light was?" Suddenly, all at once, Sirena was right in front of his face, bending down from her ridiculous height so that they were eye to eye.

Her gaze was sapphire blue and as cold and catching as ice, the pale tone of her skin seeming to glow as she took up Luca's entire line of vision, made up his entire world for a brief second, the shimmering suggestion of mother-of-pearl scale falling down her sharp cheekbones like a waterfall off of the edge of a diamond cliff.

"No," Luca's mouth moved without his permission.

"I do," Sirena murmured, her gaze flickering all over his face, his body, and Luca realised with a viloent shudder, that he was freezing. "Shall I tell you?"

" _Sirena!_ "

With a great, jerking gasp, Luca could move, could breathe again, falling to his knees as he clutched at his chest, struggling to calm his racing heart.

... what had he been doing, again?

"Luca!" Val's arms were suddenly around him, warm and iron tight.

"Val?" He was confused, the gears in his head turning slowly, muzzily. "Val, what are you doing here?"

"The better question, little Luca," Val said tightly, "is what do you think _you_ are doing here?"

"I don't - I was," Luca paused, a twinge of pain running through his head. "I was just walking home from Engeve, and then - I don't know. Did I... blackout, or something?" He was holding his head cradled in his hands when he realised - his hair was wet with sweat, and his hands with something else, something red. Small, but somewhat deep crescent incisions were scattered all across the palms of his hands, still welling up and weeping blood.

Val hissed and gripped his hands flat tightly, yanking them to her. "Dammit," she hissed. "Dammit, dammit, _dammit_."

"Val?"

Val jerked her head up, to see Luca giving her a worried, cautious look. "Let's get home, little Luca," she said, standing up and yanking him to his feet, careful not to touch the small but open wounds on his hands. "You got me the flour, right? I'll make scones."

Blinking at her, thrown a little bit by the sudden subject change but too tired and bizarrely hurting to argue, Luca followed Val as she led him through the woods back to her house, trying to ignore the eyes he was sure he could feel on him.


	3. Second Chapter

"Asch! Asch, wake up! As-"

The state between sleeping and waking was a thin, delicate one for Asch. Since the kidnapping seven years ago, it had always been this way - at first, due to nightmares of painful fonon light and screams on a flat surface, and then after that because of a hyper vigilance that had been all but ingrained into his very genetic makeup, carved into his fonons as surely as the seventh was the planet's memory. And so, even with his body exhausted and disoriented by their hyperresonance, it only took Tear a few seconds of calling his name with a light grip on his shoulder to bring him back to consciousness, braking through the surface of his shallow sleep.

His head was in Tear's lap, he registered, and she was crouched over him with her staff ready, point aimed behind him and fair trembling with fonons.

"Shh," Tear whispered, strands of her hair falling into his face. He could feel her heartbeat, light and hummingbird quick, thrumming through her chest as she bent down, and he tried not to blush at the view she was giving him.

 _Be professional like Tear is,_ he told himself. When that didn't work, he kept up a mantra of _Natalia_ running through his head.

"There are monsters up ahead," she continued in a low tone. "Nothing too difficult, I'm pretty sure we can handle it, but I didn't want to risk anything until you were conscious and I knew you were okay." A worried frown. " _Are_ you okay?"

Asch nodded his head slightly, trying not to shift to much from his position until Tear had first _gotten off of him_.

Blushing, as she realised just how they'd been positioned, Tear did so. "Ah, sorry," she fidgeted, her cheeks a brilliant red.

"It's fine," Asch said, already putting it behind him. "You've been awake longer than I have, any idea where we are?" He slipped straight into the mindset that had been trained into him for as long as he could remember - that of a leader, a warrior, the future King of Kimlasca.

Tear, too, grew solemn, and Asch knew her well enough that when he saw her expression he braced for bad news. "Tataroo Valley," she said grimly. "At least, I'm fairly sure."

Asch took her word for it. After the kidnapping, his parents and uncle had wanted to confine him to the walls of the manor until he was of age, but after convincing them that such a thing would be an incredibly cowardly and weak move to both Malkuth and the nobles in Kimlasca-Lanvaldear's House of Peers, he'd managed to earn himself some semblance of freedom - but still, beyond those frantic weeks spent fighting for his life to get back home, he'd never truly left Baticul, unlike Tear, who, as green as she was, _was_ a trained soldier in the Oracle Knights. If she said they were in Tataroo Valley, then that was probably where they were.

However, that brought to life other problems.

 _Shit_ , thought Asch. "Malkuth." He closed his eyes for a minute. "We're in _Malkuth_."

Tear winced. "I'm sorry," she said hurriedly. "I was just so focused on getting us _out of there_ , that I wasn't focused so much on _where we would be going_. I just thought _far away_ , and we ended up _here_..." Tear trailed off miserably.

"Its fine," Asch reassured her, though it very much _wasn't_ \- however, it wouldn't do to have Tear, the one person whose trust was guaranteed while in Malkuth, get lost in her own guilt when he needed her to have her head on straight. "Let's just focus on getting out of here and worry later." He glanced around the valley. "Even if they're only low level, monsters swarm at night. It would be best not to linger too long."

Seeing the sense in his words, Tear stood, before casting a critical eye at Asch's gear. "Are the stat boosts your gear gives you entirely necessary?" she asked. "With the Fabre crest emblazoned on them it wouldn't take too long for someone to recognise us as Kimlascan." She paused, and scowled at his face and hair. "Nothing can be done about your colouring, I suppose," she mumbled.

Asch felt vaguely offended, but knew and acknowledged that Tear was right - and as long as he was careful and Tear was on her toes, he should be fine without the adds provided by his armour.

Methodically, Asch removed all items that could identify him as a member of House Fabre. His gloves, coat, outershirt and overpants, all embroidered with the family crest were folded away and placed into the item bag that Tear carried on her always as a soldier. The sheath of his sword was debated on, before they unanimously decided that anyone squinting at the shallow carving beneath the just visible hilt of Asch's sword would already be suspicious enough of them to risk a fight. In the end, he was left in his thick tights, made of a woven material intended to protect from both blade and bullet, and a thin, loose cotton tunic style undershirt that fell down to his thighs and hung off the shoulders.

Tear was making a valiant effort to hold in her laughter, and that, Asch appreciated, even though she wasn't precisely succeeding. "It's just -" she let out another choked sound of quiet laughter. "Asch, you look so _cute._ "

He scowled. "I do _not_ look cute."

Tear let out another quiet giggle, and sent him an amused look that clearly said _yes you do_.

"Look, whatever, it doesn't matter," he said, shivering a little as a breeze brushed the cold night air over his bare shoulders. "We just need to get out of here, okay?"

Tear nodded, and readied her staff. "Right," she said.

Together, they quietly made their way down the bushy paths of the valley, stopping only to fight the monsters that came after them and were necessary. Unfortunately, a fair amount of them did so, and by the time the sound of rushing water - a river? - had reached their ears, at least an hour had passed and both Tear and Asch were exhausted.

The sound of the flowing river was a welcome relief, even more so than the practical experience in battle and teamwork they had gained by fighting together, as it was an opportunity to have a drink, when they had carried no water or food on them, and it could quite possibly lead to civilization of _some_ sort, most settlements being built, after all, around a sustainable water source.

Up ahead, a branch cracked. Instead of freezing like they had earlier, Asch and Tear _moved_ ; Tear jumping back deftly and landing lightly in order to cast, Asch readying the sword that he had kept in his hand since their arrival in Tataroo Valley, not wanting the soft metallic sound of it being constantly unsheathed to draw unwanted attention.

Sighing exasperatedly, they prepared for yet another battle, and so were surprised when instead of a monster, it was a man that walked out of the overgrowth surrounding the river banks - and the man, it seemed, was equally shocked to encounter them. With a loud yelping noise, the man stumbled backwards and almost dropped his bucket.

"Dark Wings!" He cried out fearfully.

Sheathing his blade - most people reacted badly to bare steel in the hands of a stranger when they themselves were unarmed, go figure - Asch crossed his arms so his hands could be seen resting away from the hilt of his blade, and tried to look imposing enough that this man wouldn't try anything now that he was, in an incredibly technical sense, unarmed. Of course, the fact that he was in little more than thin underclothes, shivering uncontrollably every now and then as the cool night breeze kissed at his bare shoulders, may have detracted from the threat factor he was trying to project.

Tear stepped forward, a welcoming smile on her face, and Asch scowled. She and Natalia - even _Guy_ \- made talking to others seem so easy. Oh, he could be charming if he wanted to, and he had charisma by the bucket load when he went to the effort (he was to be king one day, after all): but that was just it. For Asch it was when he _forced_ it that he became personable. For the others, it seemed to come almost naturally and it just _wasn't fair_. Asch wasn't perfect, after all, was as infallible as any other man, but for most of his life he had simply been the best at, well, everything he tried. It was _adults_ that outclassed him, not his peers, and Asch was certain this was simply because of the experience gap. By the time he was his father's age, his uncle's age, he would be _better_ than the both of them had ever hoped to be - except in this one aspect.

So, Asch let Tear take the lead, managing to convince the man - a coachman heading for Grand Chokmah, it seemed - that, no, they weren't this bandit troupe, and how much exactly would it cost to ride with him on his coach.

Alarmed, Asch's head jerked up from where he had it tucked down and turned away, before scowling and turning once again with a 'hmph' as Tear sent him a warning look. Even a lowly coachman would be hard pressed _not_ to recognise the glaringly obvious colouring of Asch's eyes and hair, visible even in the dark of the night with the only relief provided by the pale, dim light of the waxing moon, still only in its early phases. If a Malkuthian citizen were to realise the man he was standing next to was Kimlascan nobility, to say nothing of the _heir to the throne_ \- well. Asch didn't even want to think on the consequences.

Thankfully, Tear's uniform as an Oracle Knight had come in handy yet again. As Daath was neutral, people rarely doubted the intentions of its enforcers.

Tch. Idiots.

But still... he gritted his teeth, unable to fully comprehend what Tear was thinking. Grand Chokmah? The _capital_ of Malkuth, the kingdom that had stood at bitter odds with Kimlasca for literal centuries? _Why_ would Tear think going there would be a good idea.

And then, Asch nearly choked as he heard the price the coachman was levying of them. Truthfully, it wasn't all that big an amount, was actually little more than pocket change for skilled adventurers or knights (undoubtedly the picture Tear was trying to paint), to say nothing of the allowance Asch had grown up on as sole heir to the Belkend duchy. But it wasn't the sort of money one generally carried with them when simply wandering around their own home, and even the gald that they'd gained from monster drops was nowhere near enough for even one of them.

Tear, it seemed, had a solution.

"I - here," she said, placing her staff down, point stuck in the ground as she let it go, and brushed her hair over one shoulder as she reached behind her neck and unclasped a necklace Asch had never noticed that she wore, pulling it off and pooling it into the palm of her hand, sending it a wistful look before passing it over to the coachman. "Will this suffice as payment?"

The coachman grunted as he held Tear's pendant up for inspection, the deep purple-gold starburst of the jewel shining unearthly under the faint light of the moon. "Should do," the coachman answered. "Sure, kids. You've got yourself a ride."

As the followed the coachman towards his waiting coach from a fair distant behind, Asch gently pulled Tear aside.

"You didn't have to do that," he said. He didn't know what that pendant was, had never seen it before in his life, but he had _known_ the look in Tear's eyes. Somehow, that pendant was important to her. "I wouldn't have minded walking."

Tear shook her head determinedly. "The longer we're in enemy territory, alone, the more chance Van has of getting his hands on you. We need to get to Grand Chokmah as quickly as possible. My pendant isn't important in the face of that."

At this, Asch fell silent, not knowing how to respond to Tear's bare-faced truths, not when it was so clear to him that she was still hurting. And it's not like she was wrong - when it came down to it, a piece of jewellery wasn't as important as stopping whatever Van had planned, as important as making sure he _never got his hands on Asch again_. But logic rarely walked hand in hand with logic, and even making the right choice can lead to painful consequences.

So instead, Asch strove to change the subject. "But why Grand Chokmah?"

"The guards rarely check registered coaches like this one entering the city, and even if they do my uniform should suffice as a deterrent against questions. Once we're in the city, we can blend among the crowd and send a message to Belkend, and then await your father's connections to smuggle us back into Kimlasca." Tear spoke softly but fast, and Asch was hard pressed to catch her every word.

 _Father has spies in Malkuth?_ He thought, before noting to himself that he really shouldn't be surprised. His father, after all, had always been a formidable man; so formidable, in fact, that uncle had married him off to his sister rather than risk facing him in battle over the throne.

"Oi, kids!" The coachman waved at them from up ahead, where he had stopped by his coach parked alongside the road. "Hop in!"

-x-

The sky was grey with the pre-dawn light of the gentle sun, shining dimly through the trees. Luca yawned as he gazed up at the evergreen leaves of the canopy spread above him, vision blurring as his eyes watered.

"What, didn't you sleep?" Val's voice echoed from within the cottage Luca was leaning against, their cottage – a little one room house of wood and gathered stone, the kitchen taking up a good half of the building. The kitchen was where Val stood, her back to both Luca and the open door as he turned and peered inside.

"Bad dreams," he answered distractedly, stepping back inside curiously in order to peer over her shoulder. "What are you making?"

"Huh?" Val jerked, glancing up swiftly before returning her attention to the dough she was kneading, a small smile on her face. "Oh, just some bread."

"It smells sweet," Luke observed.

Val shrugged helplessly. "Well, we don't have much in the way of ingredients," she said morosely, her face dimming for a moment before the smile was back and brighter than ever. "But even in the middle of a crisis, two things in Engeve are facts of life: work, and apples."

Luca blinked. "You put apples…in the bread?"

"It'll taste good," she sing-songed, before shooting him a mock glare. "Are you _doubting_ me, little Luca?"

Playing along, Luca quickly raised his hands to his chest, palms out in a _stay away!_ gesture. "Oh no, please, have mercy!" He cried out, and Val giggled before whacking him with one floury, dough covered hand.

"Off with you!" She yelled out. "Don't you have things to do today, little Luca? Go on, get!"

"I'm going, I'm going," he yelped, laughing as he ducked beneath her mock-swings as he fled for the open door. "I'll see you later this afternoon, okay?"

"Be back before sunset!" Val's shout was muffled by distance but still clearly very serious. "I don't want you wandering around the woods alone in the dark!"

Luca screwed his face up briefly in confusion, wondering if he should question Val's sudden decision to not let him walk through the woods at night-time, something she'd never taken issue with before - but decided against questioning her. Val had her reasons, most likely, and he would just have to trust in them.

-x-

 _"Sirena!" Val's voice was a hiss like shards of glass running through sand. "What the_ hell _do you think you were doing?"_

 _The taller woman, of darker hair and lighter skin, ink-dark and paper snow, cast a sidelong glance in her companion's direction, and raised both shoulders in a delicate shrug. "You can't protect him forever, you know," eyes narrowed, Sirena turned to face Val head on, the silk of her skirts rustling as she turned and folded her arms across her middle. "Nor can you continue to lie to him." She tilted her head slightly. "It's time, Val," she spoke gently. "I know you were hoping for a little longer, but it's time."_

 _"Why?" Val's voice was a plead, her eyes wide with - not denial, but an almost childish desire for Sirena to reassure her. "Why, Sirena? Why now?"_

 _Sirena sighed. "When Sylph chose you for this, when I heard her plan - I begged her not to, you know. I knew you'd grow too close, that you wouldn't want to let go. But Akzeriuth approaches, and soon the truth will come out. You can't keep it from him, not anymore." Sirena turned to look in the direction of the distant Tataroo Valley. "Everything is falling into place, just like the Score has stated. Though I hate to say this, you must trust in Yulia and Lorelei. Even now, they're here with us, and they know what they're doing." A small, bitter smile. "You should have let me finish last night. For you, for him - it would've been a kindness."_

 _Val snarled, low and vicious. "Stay_ away _from my son," she growled out, hands aching for her weapons - she'd left them back at home with Luca, thinking she wouldn't need them._

 _Sirena stared at her. "I think that's the first time you've ever called him that," she said, sounding surprised. "The first time I've heard it, at least." A horrible, unwanted sympathy showed in her expression, her eyes, and Val wanted nothing more than to claw it right off of her. "It hurts," she acknowledged, "losing a child." She stepped forward, and placed a gentle hand on Val's stiff shoulder._

 _"But Val," she reminded the blonde. "He was never really yours."_


End file.
